Of Muffin and Men
by L J Groundwater
Summary: Just an experiment on my part - see note inside ... Josh has some serious work to do. But a distraction taking over the West Wing is making it difficult to concentrate. Please read and give feedback... Thanks.


This is just a test... trying to see if this is worth continuing, and it's an experiment to see if I can possibly write in this fandom because I find the writing and the plotting of this show so extraordinarily rich. So, just putting this out there... looking for feedback. Warning: any progress on this could be VERY slow!

I own nothing at all... no surprise, but a heck of a disappointment...

xx=xx=xx

**WARNING: There are graphic, true reports of domestic violence murders in this story.**

"Why are you already here?" Donna Moss asked with a small frown.

Joshua Lyman shrugged, backing into his office much faster than she expected him to. "I always come in early—I mean, don't I always come in early?"

"Not really. I mean, at least I'm usually here before you. Did you get paged?"

"No, no," Josh rushed to reassure her. "I just wanted to get a head start on things. You know... before everyone else gets here." He continued to back toward his desk, stumbling only when he hit it with his leg. Then he turned and scrambled to sit in his chair, putting on his face what appeared to his assistant to be a falsely nonchalant expression.

Donna remained in the doorway to Josh's office, looking at him.

"_What?"_ Josh challenged. Donna just blinked. "Go find me a muffin, or something." Donna offered a half-shrug and turned away, only to turn back when she heard a noise behind her. One of Josh's hands was under the desk, leaving him awkwardly positioned as she looked at him. "I said a _muffin_, Donna!" he repeated sternly, clearly trying to get rid of her.

But as she considered the request, the noise she had thought she heard was there again. High pitched. Unhappy. Un-human.

Her eyes widened. "Josh?"

"And a glass of... milk," the Deputy Chief of Staff added weakly. But it was too late. Whatever was under the desk with his arm was getting louder and more wiggly, judging from the way he was jerking back and forth.

"Josh, is that a—?"

And then it was out.

"_Dog?"_

"Puppy," Josh corrected, holding the still-squirming ball of fur in his arms.

Donna's face melted. "Oh my God, Josh, he's beautiful!"

"She. She's a German Shepherd. She's about eight weeks old."

Donna moved into the room instinctively, leaning down toward the whimpering bundle and rubbing its face with her hands. "Where did you get her?"

"It's a long story. Let's just say we met last night, and I didn't know what to do with her this morning. If I left her alone in my apartment, she'd probably chew everything into a million pieces before I got home... and I'm not even going to think about her going to the toilet."

"Aww... I bet she's hungry," Donna cooed.

"Hence the muffin, Donna... get her a muffin."

"You don't feed _muffins_ to puppies!"

"And _milk_!" Josh defended himself. "I said milk, too, Donna. It's not like we keep a regular supply of Puppy Chow in the Oval Office—"

Josh's face suddenly went pale.

"Josh, what's wrong?"

"The President. Now that you know about her, others will find out about her; God knows Margaret can't keep a secret, even under pain of death... then _President Bartlet_'s gonna find out!"

"Well, what did you think was going to happen when you brought a dog to the White House?"

"I thought I'd be able to hide her, Donna! _What else_ was I supposed to do with her?"

"I don't know; I'm not the one who brought her here!" Josh looked at her, bested. Her voice softened. "What's her name?"

"Name?"

"You know, Josh, that thing that you call people by so they know you're talking to _them_. Name. What's her name?"

"Uh..."

"You haven't given her a _name_?" Donna asked accusingly.

"I didn't plan on having her this long, Donna! One of my neighbor's kids just came running over with the dog in her arms and said her parents would kill her if she brought it home and could I watch it for just a little while... then she never came back!"

"Well, why didn't you go back to her place later and force her to take it?"

"I didn't have time to do that; I was..." Josh faltered as the pup aimed its tiny tongue toward his chin. He smiled automatically, and seemed to forget his argument.

"... too busy playing with her and then it was too late?" Donna guessed. Josh shrugged. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Get something for her to eat and then _hide her_ for the rest of the day."

"Muffin."

"That's right; a muffin."

"No, I mean, why don't you call her Muffin?"

Josh just looked at her balefully. "Muffin? A dog that's going to have a baritone bark? _Muffin_?"

Donna smiled a not-at-all-hidden triumphant smile. "So you're planning on having her that long, huh?"

Josh started to answer but cut himself off abruptly when he heard voices in the bullpen nearby getting closer. He immediately plunged the puppy out of sight and threw Donna a warning look as someone appeared behind her.

"An early _tête-à-tête_?" asked Toby Ziegler. He looked at Josh. "Why are you here so early?"

"I'm not early!" Josh protested.

Toby raised his eyebrows as Josh literally squirmed in his seat. "Okay," he dismissed. "We've got that thing at seven-thirty. Did you remember?"

"Yes, I remembered. That's why I came in early—I mean, I didn't come in early; I mean I remembered and so I skipped breakfast to make sure that you could see me in my office when it was..." Josh's voice faded when he saw Toby turning to walk away. "... early. I remembered the thing!" he called.

Toby raised a hand to show he'd heard without turning around. Josh turned his eyes, suddenly wide and panicky, toward Donna. "I forgot the thing!" he exclaimed.

"What thing?" Donna asked.

"Jane Doe, Inc."

"Jane Doe, Inc.?"

"The Massachusetts Coalition Against Sexual Assault and Domestic Violence. There's a... thing this morning about a report they put out."

"What kind of report?"

"A report about domestic violence," Josh answered vaguely. "Donna, what am I gonna do about Muffin?"

"You can eat later!"

"I mean the dog, Donna; what do I do with the dog?" Josh pulled out the squirming pup, almost obsessively stroking its back. The pup yawned and started to settle down.

"You're going to call her Muffin?"

"Where am I going to leave her? I can't have her running around my office!"

"You really like the name after all? I thought you said her voice was going to get too deep."

"I was going to lie low for most of the day... now what do I do?"

"I think it's a _great_ name," Donna persisted.

"Donna!" burst Josh. "The dog!"

Donna sighed. "You were going to have to leave your office some time, Josh. Did you think you'd be able to stay closed up all day long?"

"That was the plan!"

"Well, it won't work. Leave Muffin with me."

"In the bullpen?"

"Just while you're in your meeting. I'll keep her occupied."

"And when someone walks by..."

"I'll make sure no one sees her, okay?" Josh hesitated. "Do you really have any other choice?"

Josh contemplated, then his shoulders slumped. "No, not really."

Donna held out her hands. "Then hand her over."

Josh pulled the puppy more possessively towards himself. "It's not time yet."

Donna tilted her head patiently. "You need to prepare. You can't go to a domestic violence meeting and call it a 'thing.' You need to know what you're talking about."

"I do!"

"Really?" Donna said, clearly not believing him.

"Yeah, _really_." Then Josh started rattling off statistics. "Battered immigrant women have special problems. They often won't seek access to help for domestic violence because of their status, where if they are illegal they fear going to authorities, and also because of the potential for a language barrier problem. Also, there's the whole cultural aspect, that since many of the people who have come to the United States have left countries with corrupt legal systems, they believe that they won't be helped unless they have a lot of money, or the perpetrators of the violence tell them that seeking help would affect their immigrant status and that no one will help a non-citizen prosecute a citizen, regardless of the fact that this isn't true.

"Of the nineteen domestic violence murders committed in Massachusetts in 2003, 74 percent of the perpetrators were men. One victim was a minor child who was killed by her father, along with her mother _and_ her grandmother. There were five murder-suicides, only a small portion of the estimated five hundred such incidents in the country each year, including three that involved married couples aged 65 and over, where the husband killed his wife and then himself, and all nineteen of the murders occurred in, or in the immediate vicinity of, the victims' homes.

"Massachusetts law provides an automatic right to appeal, so even where some of the victims were able to identify their attackers before they died and the perpetrators allegedly confessed their involvement in the crime to police, there are several appeals pending. This includes the case of a 47 year old man who stabbed his 76 year old disabled female housemate, then hid her body in a closet, opened the windows to keep the body cool and spread onions around the room to mask any odor."

Josh came to an abrupt halt, having gotten up and started pacing while he spoke, never stopping his stroking of Muffin, his voice getting harder and more forceful as he went on. Now, he sank back into his chair, seemingly drained after his declarations. Donna stood in stunned silence at the grocery list of horror that her boss had just laid before her. "Oh, my God, Josh," was all she could manage after a few seconds.

"So... I'm ready," Josh said quietly.

"Why... why is there going to be a meeting?" Donna asked quietly.

"The 1994 Violence Against Women Act grants some protections and restitutions, but obviously this is still a big problem and a couple of focus groups want us to consider stronger laws. The President thought it was worth looking into, and Leo asked me and Toby to meet with them."

"So you're doing that at seven-thirty?"

"That's right."

"Then hand over the dog."

"Donna—"

"Hand her over, Josh! It's seven o'clock. You need time to clean up."

"I'm clean!"

"Look again."

Josh looked down and immediately held the dog away from him. "Donna, find me a clean shirt," he ordered wearily.

"Coming up."

"And a soapy towel!"

His assistant gone, Josh buried his face in the puppy's head. "You're so lucky you're too cute to turn into a tissue box cover," he murmured to the dog. "Hey... I guess that means we have something in common."


End file.
